Sparks
by Tears of Insanity
Summary: The woman's imploring voice shouted, "Spare me!" He turned, bright cerulean eyes assaulting her face as he said, "And why, pray tell, would I do that?" She met his gaze and murmured, "Because something about me makes you think that you should." RaeRob.
1. Prologue

**Yes, yes, I'm terrible. Even though I just updated my last story for the first time in over a year, I'm starting a new one. Sorry! But I hope that you guys will, at least, enjoy it. And no, this doesn't mean that I'm going to neglect the other one again - really, this is my way of doing the opposite. If I have multiple stories going at once, they will forcefully demand my attention and I won't be able to scamper off to the boring realm of real-life. **

**So, considering the fact that this idea entered my head approximately ten minutes before I started writing this, let's see how it goes, shall we?**

Disclaimer: Teen Titans me no ownie. -sighs- Someday, you just wait.

**Prologue**

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She thrashed wildly as she tried to remove herself from the bruising grasp of the uniformed man that dragged her along like a rag doll. Biting, kicking, scratching, shrieking, she was pulled towards the castle that grew ever-nearer, and every step that he took to bring them closer, she grew a little more panicked.

Finally, a second man slapped her hard across the face - so hard, in fact, that she felt a headache coming on before the sting even registered. He smiled in grim satisfaction at the red mark that was already turning her otherwise pale face into a color that more closely resembled a newly-ripe tomato.

"Be a good little thing," he said, and a grin revealed teeth that were almost perfect, save the yellow-brown tinge of them. "Don't make me mark up your pretty little face any more than I have to."

_It's a shame_, she thought to herself. _He could be considered handsome if he weren't so... not._

She glowered up at him, her large, violet eyes seeming to pierce straight through him like a blade through butter. The smile was wiped from his face immediately and he turned away without even realizing he had done so.

"Set me free at once!" the young woman demanded, not for the first time.

"Hush your mouth!" The first man's fingers tightened further as he spoke his first words to her. "I am of the King's Guard, and you will not address me in such a tone!"

"Spell 'address!'" she commanded, spitting at his feet.

A slap across the other side of her face was her punishment, but she didn't appear to pay much attention to it.

"You will treat us with respect," he growled, "or you'll never even make it to kiss His Grace's feet and beg for mercy - we'll torture and kill you right out here!"

"Do it, then," she challenged. "Be done with it. I'd rather die out in the open than in the home of a filthy fool of a monarch."

Abruptly, they stopped. The larger man let go of her arm and turned to face her, taking her chin in his hand. "I could crush your jaw from a simple squeeze," he said, meeting her vibrant eyes with his own dead, gray ones. "Another fucking word from your mouth, and that's what you'll get. Are we clear?"

She fought back tears but said nothing, jerking her head away and staring at the ground. He grumbled something under her breath and continued to "escort" her the final yards to the large doors. Though the castle itself was made of gray stone, the doors were made of a dark, ominous wood.

"Is His Majesty available?" asked her captor of the man who was clearly some sort of doorman once they were inside.

"Yes," he replied slowly, eying the girl. His obvious curiousity was ignored as she was hustled briskly across a pale marble floor to another set of doors - the throne room, she guessed, and was correct.

Just before going in, all but the guard holding her fell back. He placed his hand on her jaw again as if to remind her who was in power before he growled, "What is your name?"

She did not reply at first, but when he squeezed, she hissed out, "I am known as Raven!"

"Is that your _name_?"

"Break my jaw if you please - that's all of the information you'll get from me." Her gaze blistered with fierce determination, and he muttered an oath before yanking her inside.

A man adorn in a great crimson robe with golden detail along the edges remained with his back to them.

"Your Highness," the guard said softly.

"Marcus. What have you for me today?" The voice was surprisingly young - four or five years her senior, she estimated, which said very little considering the fact that she had recently come to nineteen years of age.

Marcus, as she now knew him to be named, fell instantly to one knee, though the king did not appear to be turning around any time soon. Raven was pulled to the floor beside him.

"This woman, here - Raven, she calls herself - was found giving 'pep' talks to fellow peasants and insulting the crown."

"Very well," said the young ruler, not teribly bothered. He waved his hand, still facing away from them, and said, "Send her to the gallows, then back on duty with you."

"Yes, Your Gra -"

He was cut off by the imploring voice of the woman as she shouted, "Spare me!"

Slowly, he turned, bright cerulean eyes assaulting her as he watched her face. "And why, pray tell, would I do that?" As he spoke, he couldn't help but note the peculiar, engaging color of her eyes, perfectly matched with black hair that reach to her mid-back and her skin like cream, despite the red blotches on either side of her face.

"Because," she murmured slowly, "something about me makes you think you should."

It was a long shot - she knew that. But she had to try; this was not a woman who gave up so easily.

She could not have possibly known that she was telling the truth.

The king watched her for several minutes, no one moving in the choking silence of the room. Finally, he broke it, directing his gaze at Marcus as he said, flatly, "Take her to the holding cell on the second floor - the one that used to be a guest room. Lock the door and stand guard outside."

Shock registered on the faithful servant's face. "What? But, milord, surely you can't mean to -"

"Do you dare defy my orders?" His tone was sharp, and Marcus's face visibly paled.

"No, of course not, Your Greatness." Pulling the captive up none too gently, he left to carry out his "assignment."

_Raven,_ King Richard mused. _Perhaps I do have some use for you._

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**Well? Was it horrible? Decent? Please, review and tell me! I want to hear ideas, suspicions, critisism - anything and everything. Shall I continue? You decide!**

**Yours truely,**

**-~- Tears of Insanity**


	2. Continence

**Hey, guys, sorry for the delay. I'm not entirely sure how this is going to go, so I suppose I'd best just dive into it and see where it takes me!**

Disclaimer: Despite how cool I would look if I could honestly say I owned Teen Titans - I don't.

**Continence**

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King Richard paced in his room like a nervous dog, muttering under his breath. The few servants who had dared interrupt his intense concentration had nearly been whipped for their trouble, to the point where whispers were going around the castle that perhaps their ruler had finally gone mad. No one had dared venture up there for over an hour, now, and in subtle amusement the young monarch figured that word had gotten around that he was not in the mood to be disturbed.

Of course, there was always an exception to that rule.

"Hey, Rich, what's got your panties in a knot?" Logan demanded, bursting through the doors. Had just about anyone else dared to do such a thing, they might very well have ended up facing the night in the prison.

"And what right do you have to come in here and speak that way?" Richard demanding, eyes narrowing. Garfield Logan - known simply as Logan - might have been his best friend, but he was getting too damn cocky lately.

"I have immunity," he said easily, crossing the room and taking a seat on his bed. "If you got rid of me, you'd have no one willing to do anything other than cower at your feet."

Richard's lips tugged into a smile; that was very true. Logan served as his Head Adviser on matters both public and personal - he was, perhaps, the only person in the world that the king every spoke with about matters in his private life. It tore at his pride, at times, to do so, but the man knew him like a brother and gave advice like an old woman. He seemed to be the only one that understood the trials of ruling a nation at the tender age of twenty-six.

"All right," he conceded, "what do you want?'

"I want to know why there's a young woman in the former guest quarters with guards outside her doors." Logan lifted a brow. "I was told that you had sentenced her to the gallows." His voice rang with disapproval and no attempt to cover it up. He had little tolerance for his friend's careless treatment of other lives, and he made sure Richard knew it. However, even he would not think to interfere with the ways of the King, so he simply refused to support the habit.

"I did." Richard scowled, exhaling in frustration as he ran a hand through his hair. "Damn it all, I _did_ sentence her."

He could feel Logan's eyes as they watched him in contemplation. He was waiting for further explanation, but Richard wasn't going to make it easy for him.

"So what happened?" came the simple question after several moments of silence.

"I don't know," he muttered.

Logan frowned. "You're acting like a child," he said flatly, "so I'm going to treat you like one. What was she sentenced for?"

"She was encouraging peasants to revolt." Richard's shoulders slumped and he sighed.

His friend's brows shot straight up to his hairline. "You let her _live_?" he demanded incredulously. Anyone who was so much as accused of such a thing was hanged within hours; there was absolutely no toleration of it under the rule of their king.

"I let her live," he agreed, his lips twisting into a wry smile. "Stop looking so surprised before I take offense."

Logan shook his head, bewildered. "Why?" he wanted to know.

"Because she asked me to," Richard said, his voice growing softer. It wasn't as if no one had ever done that before - in fact, there were screams and pleas for mercy almost every time.

Of course, his comrade knew this as well, and thus inquired, "What made this time different than the other times?"

_Because something about me makes you think you should._

Remembering her words, his scowl became deeper. "She told me that I thought I should."

"Well, did you?" Logan questioned for clarification.

"No, of course not. At least, not at first. She just - oh, I don't even know." Though his hair was already somewhat mussed from his earlier abuse of it, he ran his fingers through a second time. "It wasn't until she'd said that, and I considered it, I suppose." There was an awkward moment where neither man knew what to say. "She calls herself Raven. Her eyes were a dark shade of violet."

Logan slowly began to agree with the rest of the castle's staff. "Rich, are you feeling all right?" he asked slowly, his voice cautious.

Richard's eyes snapped to him. "I'm not imagining it!" he snapped. "They really were. Come see for yourself." He strode towards the door and yanked it open, startling the guards outside of it that seemed to have previously been engaged in idle chatter.

Following if only for curiousity's sake, Logan followed at his heels until they reached the room marked by Marcus' presence outside it.

"Milord," Marcus said in acknowledgement, bowing. "Have you new orders for me?"

"No," he muttered. "Advisor Logan and I would like to have a word with her."

"As you wish, Your Majesty." The guard stepped aside immediately and allowed the two men access.

As the door shut behind them, both men looked around the room. The woman was sitting on the opposite edge of the bed, her back to them and face in her hands. The slight heaving of her shoulders and chest indicated that she was, in fact, crying.

"Stand," Richard commanded.

She gave no respond.

"You will obey your king, won't you?" It was more of a warning in case she hadn't realized who was speaking to her - although, in that back of his mind, he knew that that was not the case. She was merely being defiant.

"You are not my king," she spat without moving.

Richard walked around the bed and stopped in front of her, Logan as his side. "Have you changed your mind, then?" he asked harshly. "Would you like a rope around your lovely little neck? I can certainly have that arranged."

"Do it!" she challenged, lifting her head to stare into his icy, unfeeling eyes. "Better death by a rope than as a prisoner."

As the exchange took place, Logan noted with none-too-little surprise that Richard had been correct. Her eyes were deep, almost amethyst in color.

"If you recall," he snapped, "you begged me for your life."

"And this is what you call sparing it?" Raven's retort came like a whip. "Is this how I am to spend the rest of my days? This is simply death by another title." Her cheeks had grown red with anger, or perhaps with despair, and her black curls tumbled over her shoulders. "I'll not stand for it."

"You will stand for whatever I tell you to." He gripped her upper arm and yanked her up off the bed, but she bit her lip to prevent the satisfaction of him hearing her cry out.

"Is this our noble king?" she mocked. "Perhaps we should show your followers _this_ side of you. Do you think they would still be so fervent to defend you?"

"You have too sharp a tongue," he warned. "Take care to restrain it before I have it ripped out of your head."

She lunged and bit his arm until he yelped in surprise, shoving her away. "My teeth are just as sharp."

"You - you _imbecile_!" he all but roared. "Have you no sense of self preservation? I could throw you out the window right now, and not a soul would so much as question me!"

"If I am an imbecile, you are a barbarian toad of a leader!"

"Leave us," he said abruptly, turning to Logan. Raven's pleading eyes were almost enough to make him refuse, but he simply nodded once and made his exit.

The moment the click sounded that indicated the door was shut once more, he had her pinned up against the wall, his hand around her neck and body pressed up against hers. It was impossible for him not to note, somewhere in his mind, that she was smaller than he had noticed during her insults. For all the large personality, the size of her body was that of a young teenager.

"Why haven't I killed you yet?" he demanded of her. "Take a guess and tell me why."

"Because you're a sadist," she choked, her eyes fevered with panic and hatred.

"No." He dropped her and took a step back, watching as she landed in a crumpled heap on the ground and then picked herself back up. "Because you are a toy, and I plan on playing with you until I become bored."

"I am no man's toy," she countered, pulling herself up to her full height. She still didn't reach her shoulders.

"No, I suppose you aren't." His eyes were cool as he regarded her with indifference. "It's a shame. Were you not so foolish and violent, you might have made someone an excellent trophy wife." Her beauty was undeniable - he almost felt bad about the future that would eventually lead to her hanging once he tired of her. However, he considered her like a rabid dog: no matter how imploring or engaging the creature, you still had to shoot it before things got out of hand.

"This coming from the man who beds several women a day."

He watched her with careful consideration. "Has it occurred to you that you would be much more comfortable here, even as a servant, than you ever could have imagined being as a peasant in whatever wretched village you come from?"

"Comfort means nothing without freedom." Her voice had softened and for less than a second, something unidentifiable stirred inside him, only to disappear before he had a chance to grasp it.

"Be that as it may, you will stay here until further notice." The effort it took to keep himself for continuing their argument was disgusting. Without another word, he turned and swiftly left the room, leaving her to curl up on the bed.

Logan was waiting for him. "What the hell was that all about?" he wanted to know. Richard held up a hand.

"Not now, Logan," he said simply. "I've got ledgers to look at."

He stormed off, leaving his rest looking between him and the door and wondering what had transpired that he could not be present for.

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**Sorry - no real action here. It came out well, though, I think. Agree? Disagree? Let me know what's going through your head.**

**Sincerely,**

**-~- Tears of Insanity**


	3. Made of Blood

**Sorry about the long wait between updates. Between both stories and life, it makes things difficult. :( However, I vow to never let this story go a month without an update! (-coughcough-)**

Disclaimer: Why, loves, don't you know by now that it's torture for me to repeatedly admit that I own nothing?

**Made of Blood**

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"You have to do something about her, Richard," Logan said sternly after several moments of silence had ensued. The two were sparring as they often did to keep in touch with their sword-fighting skills - not that it was likely either of them would ever have to use them, of course. It was really more to have something to do, and because, well, as such important members of society, it seemed barbaric to _not_ be a decent warrior.

Richard jabbed at him, but it was easily parried.

"What do you suggest I do?" he snapped. "I can't let her go; it's treason, what she's doing, and I can't have her rallying up the peasants." He wiped sweat from his brow.

Logan shook his head, thinking. "Switch hands!" he called and, both beind right-handed, each of them moved their swords to their left to battle with their weaker limb. "What are your options, then?"

"Keep her here," he said flatly. _'Sentence her to death'_ hung silently within the room, and neither pretended that it had simply been forgotten.

"Not that I'm encouraging something else, Rich, but..." he trailed off for a moment. "Well, why do you care?"

Richard stopped and, on cue, Logan followed suit. Running a hand through his hair, the young king scowled fiercely. "I don't know, damn it!" He through his sword in a fury and it slid across the marble floor until it smacked into the wall.

"No need to take it out on the weaponry," Logan muttered dryly. "Are you planning on holding her forever, then?"

"I don't know," he repeated, his voice sounding hallow. "I just want to _speak_ to her, but whenever I even think of her, I get so angry." Richard clenched his fists.

His friend frowned in response. "I think that maybe -"

He was cut off as Marcus ran into the room, nearly out of breath. "The girl, she - she -"

"She what? Escaped?" the king demanded sharply, his eyes flashing.

"No," he gasped, "she broke the window. Her wrists..." There was no proper way to say it, so he didn't attempt one. It hardly mattered because Richard was already jogging out the door, roaring for someone to fetch the castle medic as Logan followed.

The servants bustled as several all went to follow their leader's orders at once.

Richard's mind had a single path as he reached the room and tore open the door, though that path had no specific name. When he got in there, he immediately spotted her hunched over on the edge of the bed, cradling her wrists but making no attempt to stop the bleeding.

"You fool," he growled, crossing the distance and yanking her hands away. "You idiotic _fool_!"

She looked up at him and, through the haze of blood loss and pain, there was a sort of triumph in her eyes. It was enough to set him off without requiring words.

"I ought to let you die!" Richard's voice was so loud that the room seemed to quake with it, but even as he spoke he was tearing off his cape and pressing it to her gaping wrists in an attempt to stem the flow. "You could burn in hell and bewitch the devil rather than me!"

Raven didn't look bothered by his attempts to "save" her, and instead she steadily replied, "You are mistaken, King. I've been in hell for two days now."

He cursed under his breath but didn't reply, calling Logan over to put pressure on one side so that he could adequately put pressure on the other.

"You're wasting your efforts," she claimed, a smile gracing her lips even as they turned an odd shade of purple. "They've been cut for minutes, now. Too much blood is gone and too much will continue to flow."

"Shut up!" he snarled, not bothering to look at her. "You know nothing of medicine, and I won't let you die until it's by my own order! _I_ am the king!"

"Surely you cannot be so vain as to think that you rule death itself?" she inquired blandly, blinking away spots. "Your land extends far in every direction, but I'm afraid that is an area that it will never reach."

Had they not all be covered in blood - the blankets included - and were she not the source of it, he would have slapped her hard enough that she would have felt it for days. Luckily, the physician appeared before he could further entertain such thoughts.

"Keep pushing down on her left," the man instructed, all business. He removed the fragment of cloak and examined the side Richard had previously been taking care of. After a few mere seconds, his face darkened, but he refrained from commenting.

"Let me die," Raven murmured, her fevered eyes boring straight into his own crystal-clear ones. For a moment, the medic hesitated, wondering if he had the right to force life - or death, for that matter - on anyone who didn't want it. However, his decision was quickly made for him.

"If she dies," Richard growled, his voice laced with sincerity, "so do you."

A single nod was the man's only response as he quickly got out an already-threaded needle.

"Will you not wait until she is unconcious?" Logan inquired, clearly the only one concerned with such things.

"By then, Advisor, it will be far too late." With that, he got started, working almost impossibly fast. Richard held her arm steady even as she writhed, clenching her teeth in dillusional agony.

Within a minute he was done with the right and getting to work on the left. The stitches were not, by any means, a pretty sight - they were jagged and uneven, but, to give deserved credit, they were tight and sure to hold. Raven, by that point, had slumped over and was being held up by both men.

"She will wake up?" It was almost more of a statement than a question, but the underlying threat made it necessary for the aging healer to reply.

"I give it a four out of five chance," he responded wearily, using a wet cloth that some servant had been smart enough to grab to gently wipe the blood from his handy-work and the rest of her skin before wrapping both wrists with thick bandages. "You must rinse these in hot water at least twice a day, and be thorough no matter how painful. If you don't, you risk infection, and not even the lord himself could bring her back from that."

Richard nodded once, frowning. "You aren't going to stay?"

"I was at the bedside of one of your guards who has been run through with an arrow in the arm," he informed him. "I must get back to him, Your Highness, and even if something should go wrong here, there is nothing more I can do."

---

It was hours later before Raven's eyes fluttered open. She found herself in bed - the same bed she'd been in for the past two days by the looks of the room, though the blankets were different. A dull ache that became an intense burn the moment she concentrated on it made her glance down at her wrists and grimace, though she couldn't see any thing through the white fabric that was tied there.

The movement of her head alerted Richard to her rise from slumber and he turned from the place on the wall that he had previously been staring at.

"Tell me," he said, his voice void of all emotion, "why I didn't kill you."

She didn't reply.

"Tell me why I didn't just let you die. I would not have felt guilty; you'd done it to yourself."

Again, silence.

"Will you answer me?!" he shouted, glowering at her. "What trickery is this? Do you know me? Are you playing with my mind? Tell me at once!"

"I have done nothing," she said, closing her eyes in defeat. She was stuck here, bound to the world of the living for who-knew-how-much-longer. "And I do wish you had just let me."

"Of course," he muttered. "Of course you do." The irony was not lost on him. He had wanted to kill her, but she had begged him not to - so he spared her. Now, she had wanted death, but he had insisted on her living; so, again, she remained alive.

"I will die," she promised. "And it will be by my own hand, not by yours. I won't allow you to end me, but rest assured that I will, in fact, find a way to end myself."

"Are you so comfortable with death?" he asked incredulously. "I have servants and slaves that have lives much worse than what you live in this room. They have even less freedom, and yet they live on. What makes you think that you're special? That you suffer more than they do? If you're so strong, why do you break so easily?"

"I never claimed to be strong." Her voice was empty. "And that is precisely their problem. Once you taste freedom, you can never let go of it. It is intoxicating, and if it takes death to provide it again, so be it."

For several minutes, neither spoke, until finally, with an odd tone, he murmured, "Are you a witch?"

"I am not," she replied simply.

"What, then, are you doing to me?"

"Are you sure I am doing anything? Perhaps it is you doing something to yourself." The pain was worsening at a rapid speed and he could nearly see the color draining from her face, though he doubted she would faint again.

Richard leaned over, gripped her chin firmly, and pressed his lips to hers. She froze, not responding in the least and instead waiting it out, and he surprisingly did not move to deepen the embrace in any way. Once he had pulled away, she stared at him vacantly, but he offered no explanation.

Without another word, he stood up and left.

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**Hmm. I can't really decide what I think of this one, so you guys will have to let me know.**

**With love,**

**-~- Tears of Insanity**


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